Ghost of a Rose
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: Rabastan Lestrange's mind is broken from Azkaban, but he is not too far gone to remember Andromeda Black. Their romance was always ill-starred. Written for Asking Me Where My Love Grows' Poetic Colours Challenge and Rose Clearwater's Angst Challenge. Now complete.
1. Way to Mandalay

Author's Notes: As promised, here is my extension of _Your Ghost of a Rose_. I decided to start it now, and continue it after NaNoWriMo. Written for Asking Me Where My Love Grows' Poetic Colours Challenge and Rosa Clearwater's Angst Challenge on the HPFC forum, and based on the songs off the Blackmore's Night album "Ghost of a Rose" (making it also a stylistic companion to Autumn Sky).

)O(

_Prologue_

Rabastan Lestrange had wandered down this pathway a thousand times before, even since his childhood, but he had always been accompanied – at first by his brother, then by… others. Being here alone was a new experience.

The moors seemed darker without company, when he didn't have _her_ by his side. Or maybe they really were darker than they had once been. Perhaps it was because of the dementors and the mists they brought with them. The sun was obliterated by swirling grey clouds, and mists hung around him in thin curtains.

The effect was dismal.

Rabastan hummed softly, trying to cheer himself up, but to no avail. The world was simply a darker place now than it had been in his childhood.

Of course, that was to be expected. Rabastan Lestrange, the eligible, quiet, rather bookish Pureblood who had once wandered these moors was a creature of the past. In his place was Rabastan Lestrange, Death Eater, Azkaban escapee, outlaw.

It had been a mistake to take this walk. He was feeling her presence more and more, and he didn't like it.

Her voice seemed to echo around him, warm and familiar, though he hadn't heard it in so long. "_Sit with me my darling, let's talk a little while…_"

"No," he said aloud. "You're not here anymore."

"_Are you sure?_"

Rabastan stopped, then shook himself. No. She wasn't here, and even if she was, she wouldn't want to talk to him. She had made that clear fifteen years ago. And he couldn't blame her – why would someone like her want to talk to someone like him, once they left the realm of childish friendship?

He ought to go back soon, anyway. It wasn't healthy to stay out on the moors this long. He'd just walk a little further.

Just another mile.

Along the road he walked, and the longer he went on, the longer the road seemed to grow. What had started out as a mile went on forever, and Rabastan started to wonder whether he would ever find some landmark to guide him, or if he would wander forever.

Did he particularly care?

No.

Being lost on the moors wasn't so bad, really.

When his legs could stand to go no further, he sat down on the edge of the path, plucking a cornflower from the ground and twirling it between his fingers. When he had started out on this walk, he had assured the others that it would just be a little stroll to clear his mind, but now… now he didn't even know where he was, and he had no desire to go back. What did he have to go back to, in any case? A brother bitter from his failing marriage, a sister-in-law deranged from Azkaban, and a Master who would see them all dead in a second if he thought it would help him achieve his ends? He'd rather be on the moors.

Where was he?

The place seemed familiar.

Tiny flashes of memory were starting to flicker through his mind. Didn't he know this place? This patch of cornflowers… he lifted one to his nose and the scent jogged something in his memory. Blissful days in which he had lain among these flowers breathing in their sweet, slight scent and admiring their brilliant colour…

Squinting through the mist – wasn't that craggy hill a place that had been deemed a castle in childhood games? Wasn't that old tree once the perfect place for climbing? That low stone wall, remnant of some ancient land claims – hadn't he once sat on that, laughing and talking to _her_?

Rabastan stood slowly, making his way through the mists until he stood right in front of the wall, then clambered up onto it, wincing in pain as his weakened body struggled to heave itself up. Once seated, he looked to his side, and could have sworn that she was there, sitting right next to him, a beatific smile painting her face. No, it couldn't be… she couldn't be here…

She extended a hand and almost touched his cheek, smiling.

"Rabastan," she murmured.

"My love…" He reached for her hand, pleading with his eyes for her to touch him. He didn't know if this was a ghost, a memory, a creation of his own fragmented mind, but…

He looked down, running his fingers over the flat, smooth stones that made up the top surface of the wall, searching with his fingertips. If this was the place he knew… if it was where he thought it was… then the letters would be there…

His skin caught on a jagged ridge in the stone. Rabastan squinted down, and felt a surge of pain straight from his heart.

Yes.

He did know this place.

One of the stones was carved, ever so carefully, with two sets of initials, enclosed in a wobbly heart. An insignia he had carved in a special place in his childhood. A little tribute for her, something to signify what he felt. It seemed foolish now, but when he had carved it, it had seemed so… so meaningful. And yes. It was here.

_AB  
RL_

He looked up again, into the face of the shade of a woman that was seated by him.

Sweet Andromeda Black looked back at him.


	2. Three Black Crows

_1970_

Andromeda, Rabastan and Bellatrix sat on the wall to watch the world go by. They were a perfect trio when they were together and throughout their childhood, they had been inseparable.

They were not children any longer – Bellatrix being nineteen years old, and Rabastan and Andromeda both seventeen – but it did not matter. They were as close as they had ever been.

The wall – their stronghold, their special place, a fortress against the invading forces of their families' domination – was the perfect place for the three of them to sit, to share food or stories or games, or just each others company. When they sat there, they were above mankind, looking down on it like a trio of gods instead of what they were – three teenagers who could not take another day of good, Pureblood life. They watched the world pass them by from that wall, and laughed at their families and their pretence. When Bellatrix, Andromeda and Rabastan were out together, they left everything else far behind.

On this particular day – late in summer, when the air was thick and hot, the sun almost unbearably bright – there was a giddy feeling amongst the three of them. Andromeda had put a name to it when they had all met there, early that morning.

"It's like- summer is going to end soon," she had said as she lifted herself onto the wall and kicked her heels against it, "and we all know it is, but we're going to enjoy it as much as we can in the last few days."

"That's stupid, Andi," Bellatrix had told her, laughing. "It's not as though any of us have to go back to school, seeing as how you two _finally_ finished last year," she added, giving her sister a little shove as Rabastan joined them on the wall.

"Andromeda's right, though," he said with more seriousness than either of them. Rabastan was always the serious one, after all. "It does feel like summer's ending and we just have to enjoy it while it lasts."

"Oh, you two and your profound metaphors," Bellatrix said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly…" She pulled her legs up under her as she gazed out over the moors. "So… what shall we do on this 'one of the last days of summer' days?"

Neither Andromeda nor Rabastan had had an answer. After several moments of anticipatory silence, Bellatrix shook her head again. "Well, all right…" She stood up on the wall, and started to walk along it.

"Bella, what are you doing?" Andromeda asked, equal parts nervous and exasperated. The wall was perilously narrow for walking on, but Bellatrix seemed to be having no difficulty.

"I'm going to go see where the end of the wall is," Bellatrix told them. "We've never gone along the wall to see where it leads."

Andromeda and Rabastan exchanged glances, and Rabastan shrugged his shoulders. It was true, they never had. They had never thought they needed too.

"Come on!" Bellatrix called. She was walking easily along the narrow ridge now, arms out to the sides for balance but not seeming to need it. "If – I don't know – the world ends tomorrow and that's what your 'summer ending soon' bit means, I want to know where this wall goes!"

Andromeda shook her head with a smile, and then she slid off the wall and hurried after her sister on the ground.

Rabastan followed, but his mind was not on Bellatrix. He was watching Andromeda – beautiful, sweet Andromeda – almost dancing along the ground. She looked like some sort of angel, he thought, with her brown curls flowing loose, and her dress flicking around her bare calves.

Andromeda's skirt, soft, sea-green silk when she had bought it, had been torn and stained so many times it was unrecognizable, but she wore it anyway, because, she said, it was still the prettiest thing she owned. Rabastan agreed – there was no garment that Andromeda looked so beautiful in as that skirt.

"Oh _damn!_" came Bellatrix's voice, sounding both put out and amused. "The wall just _ends_ here. Nothing interesting at all! Well, I suppose I should have expected that…"

Rabastan was panting as he ran up to where the girls had stopped. He was physically weak, and even this brief little jog winded him. Andromeda smiled and took his hand, squeezing it as the blood thumped so loudly in his ears he thought he was going to pass out. He smiled at her, though, signalling he was going to be all right in a moment.

Bellatrix had scarcely even spared Rabastan a glance. She was standing on the edge of the wall, arms outstretched as wind whipped around her. Her black hair swirled in the air, her long skirt fluttering up around her knees. She looked captivated by the winds, as though they were going to lift her up and carry her away any second.

Rabastan glanced at Andromeda, who shrugged slightly.

At last, Bellatrix's arms dropped and the winds stilled as she leapt off the wall and pulled both Andromeda and Rabastan into tight embraces. Rabastan stiffened – physical shows of affection were all but unheard of from Bellatrix.

"Listen here, you two," Bellatrix said, pulling back and looking at Rabastan and Andromeda with an almost uncharacteristically earnest expression in her eyes. "Maybe… maybe you two are right about… 'summer ending'. Maybe things are going to start to look bleak soon… but I swear to you both," she added, drawing herself up to her full – quite impressive – height, "summer might end for the rest of the world, but not for us."

"What are you talking about, Bella?" Andromeda said, rolling her eyes slightly at her older sister.

"You know what summer is, Andi?" Bellatrix asked. "Summer is freedom. Anyone can tell you that. It's _always_ going to be summer out here, when the three of us are together, because, out here, when the three of us are together…" She spread her arms again, like wings. "Freedom reigns."


	3. Diamonds and Rust

They stayed out on the moors for hours, enjoying the sweet summer heat and the silence that was uninterrupted except for the sounds of birds and the wind in the brush. None of them felt the need to speak – it was so much better to be quiet.

The sun rose higher in the sky, grew hotter, and Rabastan's body felt sluggish and warm, and he was slightly dizzy, even as he sat upon the wall at Andromeda's side.

"We should go inside," Andromeda said at last, and Rabastan was aware that she was looking at him. He coloured slightly.

"I'm fine," he told her.

"You look flushed."

"I'm not going to die, Andromeda," he told her, and he must have sounded sharper than he intended, for Bellatrix let out a soft snicker.

"Of course you aren't," she said, and ignored Andromeda when she glared at her. "I mean, it's not as though you're sickly _at all_, now is it? You're just as strong and healthy as any boy could ever be – there's _no_ reason to think that you might not do well to stay out in the sun all day long…"

"Don't talk to me as though I'm an invalid!" Rabastan snarled.

"But you–"

"Be quiet, Bella!" Andromeda said sharply. Even Rabastan was surprised by how harshly she spoke to her sister, and Bellatrix looked downright outraged.

"Don't you tell me to be quiet!"

Andromeda glared at her sister, and Rabastan didn't dare make a sound. He looked between them, then cleared his throat quietly. "Andromeda?"

She didn't take her eyes off her sister, but she slid down from the wall and held her hand out for Rabastan to take. "Come on, Rab. Let's both go home. If Bellatrix wants to stay out here to prove that she's not an invalid…"

Bellatrix snorted, tossing her head like a horse would toss its mane. "Oh, that's rich of you, isn't it, Andromeda?"

"What?" asked Rabastan, looking back at Bellatrix warily. Andromeda blanched.

"Bellatrix," she said through gritted teeth, "I swear to God…"

"Didn't you know, Rabastan?" Bellatrix tilted her head innocently, fluttering her eyelashes, and Rabastan's stomach churned. He did not like the look on her face, and he liked even less that it seemed very much like she was implying something about Andromeda.

Andromeda, his dearest friend, one person who _never_ said that he was weak…

"She was talking about you last night," Bellatrix said airily. "I'm sure that she can tell you…"

"Don't!" said Andromeda, her face flushing.

But it didn't matter what Bellatrix said anymore. Rabastan had a _very_ good idea what sort of conversation might have occurred, and he began to tremble, so much like a leaf caught in a strong wind, looking at Andromeda with an expression of absolute fury.

"Did you call me an invalid?" he asked her in a furious hiss. "_Did_ you?"

"Rab, you know me better than that…"

"Obviously not!" His vision was turning cloudy and dark around the edges, and he breathed deeply, trying not to lose consciousness, for what could _possibly_ be any worse than passing out as he was trying to convince them that he was not weak. "I- I thought that you would _never_ say anything like that about me!"

"But you _are_ practically an invalid," Bellatrix put in reasonably. "I mean, let's be honest here, the only reason that you're walking about here at all is that you've taken half a dozen potions to keep you on your feet…"

"That isn't true!"

"Yes, it is. Rodolphus tells me about you…"

Rabastan had to bite down on his tongue to keep from cursing her. And his brother – how _dare_ his brother gossip about him! He would make Rodolphus pay for this, he _would…_

"And he says that you have to take seven different potions just to get out of bed in the morning," Bellatrix continued, with an insufferably smug air about her as she said it. "Is that not true, Rabastan? Can you actually get out of bed without any help at all?"

Rabastan said nothing, but his crimson cheeks gave away the answer, and everything that he could see was turning into dark, blurry stars. He clung to the edge of the wall to give him balance.

"There's nothing wrong with that, Bellatrix!" Andromeda snapped, and Rabastan jerked away when he felt her hand brush his shoulder. Had he been able to think properly, he would have known that she was only trying to help him – perhaps because she could tell that he was off-balance and perhaps because his face was going grey and ashy – but to him, it felt like nothing more than her trying to patronize him. As though he needed her help! He slapped her hand away roughly.

"I am _not weak!_" he snarled, needing to pause between each word to gasp and draw air into his lungs. _Oh,_ but he felt so dizzy, so sick. "I am _not an invalid_! And I do _not_ need your help!" he added in the closest that he could get to a shout.

"Rabastan…" When he blinked, Andromeda came into focus just enough for him to be able to detect the look of almost matronly concern upon her face. "Of course you're not an invalid, but you look as though you're about to faint–"

He pushed her back and turned away, stumbling down the side of the hill. The brush caught his feet and he went sprawling, scraping skin from the palms of his hands.

"Rabastan!" Andromeda called, but before she had come close to him, Rabastan heaved himself to his feet again, not even stopping to regain his balance and let his vision clear. He just wanted to get as _far away_ from her as he possibly could, and if that meant that he was going to faint and hit his head on a rock and lie bleeding out on the moors until someone found his rotting corpse weeks later – well, so be it.

He heard Andromeda running behind him and calling out for him to stop, come back and let her help him, but Rabastan only ran faster because of it. Andromeda could have caught up with him, of course she could have, but she did not, and her calls became further and further between and more and more half-hearted, and when Rabastan finally dared to stop and look back, she was nowhere in sight.

He plodded the rest of the way back to the manor, dragging himself into the gardens, and collapsed upon a bench, his thin chest wavering as his heart beat an erratic and shuddering rhythm against his rib cage. He closed his eyes and listened to it. Perhaps, Rabastan thought, that had been too much for him and his heart would finally give out, and then he would never need to be called an invalid again.

If he tried very hard, Rabastan could just remember a time before he had been weak, when he had been the sort of son that the Lestranges could be proud to call their own. Perhaps he had been a little delicate, but all well-bred young men were, they said. There was nothing wrong with a boy who preferred to stay inside and read or practice an instrument instead of running about like a wild thing.

When Rodolphus had reached the age of thirteen, Rabastan had been able to witness his brother's transformation from a gangly, ungainly boy into the sort of young man that people liked to describe as "charming" and "strapping", and Rabastan had eagerly awaited such changes in himself.

But when he had turned thirteen, Rabastan had been ill. He lay abed upon his birthday, and for weeks after that, sickened by some disease that no one ever named, and that Rabastan only knew made him dizzy when he stood and made his heart flutter when he moved. He had assumed that it would go away, but it never quite had.

_He says that you have to take seven different potions just to get out of bed in the morning._

_Yes, I do, you insufferable bitch!_ Rabastan thought, his throat tightening slightly. _Yes, I have to take potions!_

Every healer that his parents took him to had prescribed some new potion or medicine designed to make his heart stronger, and he took them all faithfully as per their instructions, but he privately did not see the use. They had barely made it possible for him to go outside – sitting and walking little distances was all right, but climbing was a strain and running as he had been doing was nearly enough to kill him – but what good was that if he was _still_ sickly, and people like Bellatrix _still_ knew it?

"Rabastan?"

He managed to open one eye and look up at his brother, who stood over him.

"_What_?"

"Mother and Father sent me to bring you in," Rodolphus told him. "And they said to make yourself presentable. We have company."


	4. Cartouche

Rabastan kept his eyes down, letting his brother lead him into the manor. He loathed _company_ – the kind his parents kept, at any rate. Bellatrix and Andromeda hadn't said anything about being hosted at the Lestranges' for dinner that night, so it couldn't be them… perhaps the Malfoys would be spending the evening.

Oh, that would be _especially_ horrendous, Rabastan thought, his nose wrinkling a little at the mere idea. He despised Abraxas Malfoy more with every passing visit, very nearly as much as he despised Druella Black. He, Abraxas, was haughty and arrogant and fancied himself much more interesting than he actually was – all traits that he had passed on to his brat of a son, too.

Rabastan could just remember a time when Lucius Malfoy had been almost tolerable – when he and Rodolphus and Rabastan had made up the group of three decent boys who would someday make excellent husbands, but, until such a time came, made excellent friends. Rabastan could remember a time when he and Lucius had gotten along quite perfectly.

A very long-ago time now, he thought.

Since that horrible year when Rabastan had turned thirteen and everything that had been perfect about his life had come crumbling down, Lucius had distanced himself from him. They barely glanced at each other now, and Rabastan could hardly say that he blamed Lucius. _He_ wouldn't have glanced at Lucius if their roles had been reversed…

"Are the Malfoys visiting, Rod?" he asked, and Rodolphus shook his head.

"The Dark Lord," he said in a quiet, reverent voice.

Rabastan's heart skipped a beat.

When he listened in to discussions of politics, _the Dark Lord_ was a title that seemed to come up often, and every time it did, it made Rabastan's heart skip a beat. The way people said it – as though it was the name of Satan himself – made him equal parts nervous and fascinated.

"Why is he here?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Mother and Father are hosting him for dinner. That's why you need to look proper, they say…" Rodolphus ushered his brother upstairs, and Rabastan followed him without protest. His heart throbbed against his ribs, and a few stars were flashing in the corners of his eyes – enough to make him feel just a touch lightheaded.

"Are you going to be all right?" Rodolphus asked, and he nodded.

"Just… I need a moment…" He gripped the banister, breathing deeply to steady himself, then managed a small, rather wan smile. "There. I'll- I'll be down in a minute."

Rodolphus nodded, retreating back down the stairs and leaving Rabastan to make his way to his bedroom, still feeling a bit shaky. Splashing cold water on his face helped only a bit, and even once he had combed and groomed himself so that he looked more like a decent Pureblood boy and less like a street urchin half-dead of consumption, which was how he thought he normally looked, he was still shaking on his feet and having trouble drawing breath.

But he would be all right, he told himself. He would _not_ faint in front of the Dark Lord.

Repeating that in his mind, almost as a prayer, Rabastan made his way back down the stairs and into the dining room.

Rodolphus had already taken his seat, and Joseph and Maria opposite him, leaving a spot open for Rabastan beside his brother. The table was laid with all the finest silverware – heavily jewelled goblets and goblin-made cutlery, lying tidily on top of crisp silk napkins (napkins that, Rabastan knew from experience, were _never_ to be used to clean oneself) – but all that paled in comparison to the sight of the man who could only be the Dark Lord, sitting at the head of the table.

Upon first glance, he looked nothing like the God that Rabastan had been expecting from the way people talked about him. He had thought that he would see a man like the paintings that lined the halls upstairs – a man so grand and imposing that one could not help to be in awe of him. But the Dark Lord was not like that.

Oh, he was handsome. He was _very_ handsome. His skin was pale and smooth and tight enough over his skull to show off what Rabastan had heard referred to as _fine bone structure _– a strong but graceful jaw, high cheekbones, and a lovely, straight nose. His eyes, half-narrowed and focussed upon Rabastan's father, were dark and there was a hint of redness about them that Rabastan found only made them more attractive.

Yes, he was _very_ handsome.

But very _humanly_ so.

"Our younger son, my Lord," Joseph said, indicating Rabastan, and when the Dark Lord turned and fixed him with his piercing, penetrating gaze, Rabastan had to struggle to keep his breath from leaving him.

"My Lord," he murmured, quickly sitting beside his brother and twisting his hands in his lap so that he might have something to focus on. "It is an honour to have you in our home."

"Yes," he said, and his voice was just as Rabastan might have imagined it – higher than most men's, cool and perfectly composed.

He, Rabastan, did not dare to look at the Dark Lord again, and only half-listened to the conversations between him and his parents, but his head jolted up and he looked sharply at the Dark Lord when he heard him his name.

"Rabastan and Rodolphus would make fine Death Eaters, I think."

Rodolphus looked up too, and Maria and Joseph exchanged worried glances. There was a moment of silence before Maria cleared her throat, and said, in a strained voice, "Why, I- I know not what you mean, my Lord. They are only boys… surely they can be of no use to you…"

"Boys can be of great use to an army, Madame," the Dark Lord told her. "Surely you know that – you and I both have lived through wars and seen how every person can have a role in fighting for the greater good…"

"But- they are so young- still in Hogwarts…"

"We need not rush the matter," the Dark Lord said. He picked up his goblet, swirling it slowly and letting the wine in it slosh against the edges. Rabastan was transfixed by his every movement. "They need not join the Death Eaters this very day…"

"But my Lord," Joseph cut in, "perhaps… perhaps there can be use found for my eldest – he is strong and hearty, after all – but Rabastan is weak- sickly…"

Rabastan burned with shame as he felt all eyes turn to him. If he had dared to hit his father, he would have. It was no wonder that Bellatrix and Andromeda thought him weak, if his own father did.

"I am not weak, Father," he said, but his voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"Nonsense, Rabastan, you are–"

"Let the boy speak," the Dark Lord cut across Joseph, holding up one hand to silence him. "If he does not think himself too weak to be of use, then it is of little concern to anyone what _you_ think of him."

Rabastan felt as though he had been slapped about the head. It was all but impossible for him to believe that the Dark Lord would say such things of him, but he managed to squeak out, "Thank you, my Lord."

"No thanks are necessary," the Dark Lord said. "You may simply tell me… now… would you desire to be a Death Eater."

"I… I do not know, my Lord," he whispered, petrified.

The Dark Lord shifted closer to him, and Rabastan bit his lips, his head spinning at the proximity.

"Rabastan Lestrange," he said in a low voice, "I do not think you understand what it would mean for you to become a Death Eater. Few people ever do understand, true," he added, "but… listen to me…"

"I- I am listening, my Lord."

"If you became a Death Eater, Rabastan," the Dark Lord said, in the same low, almost conspiratorial voice, as though he was discussing a matter private to him and Rabastan that had nothing to do with Joseph or Maria, or even Rodolphus who he was leaning over to speak to Rabastan, "then think of all the things that you could have… that could be yours… think of the power."

"P- power?"

"Power," he confirmed. "Anything that you desired… anything that you could _imagine… _you could have for yourself – for your family – for people who you care for…"

Rabastan swallowed hard. Visions were already dancing of his head of what he would take for himself if he could – health would be the first thing he would desire, and then perhaps something for Andromeda – something for _himself_ and Andromeda…

"What say you, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked. "Would you care to consider joining me and my… cause?"

Rabastan swallowed hard. The way that his parents and Rodolphus were looking at him left an ache of guilt in his stomach, as though he would be doing something wrong by saying yes – but they all but _worshipped_ the Dark Lord, and had had no qualms about the suggestion of Rodolphus joining him, so why? Why would it be wrong?

_Because I am weak._

_Because they _think_ that I am weak._

_But I could prove them wrong, if I only got the chance._

_And this is a rather perfect chance…_

Rabastan drew a deep breath, then looked the Dark Lord squarely in the eye and nodded decisively.

"Yes," he said. "I would like to be a Death Eater."


	5. Queen for a Day

Rabastan spent the rest of the evening watching the Dark Lord while trying to avoid meeting his eyes so that he would not need to speak to him. He was in shock at what the Dark Lord had offered him, but _oh_, such happy shock. When he went to bed, he lay upon the sheets, staring up at the dark ceiling and considering what he wanted, now that he was going to be accepted as a Death Eater.

There were stories – too many to count, and perhaps only a handful that were true – about men who had pledged their lives to the Dark Lord and his cause and been richly rewarded for it, given everything their hearts desired. Every wish was granted for them, no matter how small or petty – everything from fine horses the colour of night to any woman that the man desired to grace his bed.

Horses were of no use to Rabastan – he had known how to ride once, but he was not strong enough to do it now; not even close to it. And women… he had little interest in women.

_Most_ women.

There was _one_, of course…

Rabastan turned over in bed, nesting into the feather quilts and closing his eyes, a small smile upon his lips.

He wanted _her_.

He wanted to please her.

That would be enough for him.

)O(

Rabastan was glad, when he made his way up to the little rock wall on the moors just after breakfast the next day in hopes of meeting Andromeda there, to find that not only was she sitting on it, engrossed in a book and kicking her legs lightly against the stone, but that Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen. _Good._ Bellatrix would have been a nuisance and gotten in the way of what Rabastan wanted to say. No doubt she would have spoiled it with her endless barrage of cruel comments. It was far better that this conversation should take place between _just_ Rabastan and Andromeda.

"Andromeda?" he said quietly.

She jumped and the book slipped from her hands at the sound of his voice, landing on the ground with a dull thud. She looked up at him and her eyes narrowed a bit as she shifted uncomfortably on the lumpy stones of the wall.

"Rabastan," she said, rather curtly, and her tone made what she was thinking perfectly clear – _why are you here talking to me? You're angry with me, aren't you? Don't you hate me right now?_

_I am angry, but I don't hate you._

He couldn't ever have hated Andromeda – couldn't even be angry enough that he would stop seeing her or stop wanting to make her happy – even when she was so very, _very_ deserving of it.

"I'm sorry," said Rabastan. It took a great deal of strength of will for him to say it, not least because he was quite positive that Andromeda was in the wrong and he had been right to be angry at her, because _how dare she call me weak, how _dare_ she_, but he didn't want to fight with her. Not after last night.

"Pardon me?" she asked.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved yesterday," he told her. The words left a foul taste in his mouth, but he said them anyway, forcing himself not to let his face twist with disgust or his tone mock her as he so wanted to. "I was wrong–" _a lie, but no matter; she didn't need to know how he loathed lying to her like this_, "and I overreacted."

"I wasn't gossiping about you, you know," Andromeda told him quietly. "Not really. Please believe me, Rab, I really wasn't."

He wanted to sneer and tell her that God Himself couldn't have convinced him that she hadn't been gossiping about him, but he kept his face straight and his voice quiet, nodding slightly.

"I know you weren't," he said solemnly. "Which is why I'm sorry." _I'm not_. "But… but that's not what I wanted to talk about in any case… there's something– I wanted to talk to you about…" He trailed off, then lifted himself onto the stone wall beside her. Andromeda steadied him with a hand upon his leg, just a small touch, not enough to make him feel like he couldn't have managed it himself, but enough to help him.

"Wanted to talk to me about what?" Andromeda asked.

Rabastan hesitated, then said, very slowly, "Andi… I- I don't know if Rodolphus told Bellatrix and she told you…"

"I haven't spoken with Bellatrix yet today," Andromeda interrupted swiftly. "I didn't like the way she was talking about you."

He flushed slightly, a small smile on his lips at the thought of Andromeda choosing him over her own sister. "Oh… thank you…"

"Don't thank me, I'm only doing what's right."

Rabastan nodded slowly, then said, "Well… last night, we- we had a guest…"

Andromeda cocked one eyebrow, looking at Rabastan with an expression that very clearly said that she had no idea where he was going with this story or why it was important. "I… see?"

"The Dark Lord," he blurted out, and comprehension dawned on Andromeda's face.

The Dark Lord had featured in their conversations – his and Andromeda's and Bellatrix's and those of the other students of their age in Slytherin as well – but he was a figure surrounded by more mythology than fact. Some students told stories about him that Rabastan were quite sure were not true and others quoted lines from articles in the Daily Prophet about him and his band of Death Eaters that sounded very much like the Prophet was making them up to fear monger – it was something that they were good at, after all. There was, however, a common consensus among Slytherins: the Dark Lord was going to be very important indeed, and it would be better to be on his side than against him. It was with this statement that nearly every conversation pertaining to him that happened in the Slytherin common room ended – by this time, Rabastan would nearly always be shaking from hearing so much about him – and when that conclusion was inevitably reached, Andromeda always nodded along with the other participants in the conversation before the topic moved to something more pleasant.

But Andromeda did not look right now as though she was hoping that this meant that their families were going to be protected. In fact, Rabastan had no idea what the look on her face was indicating. It was utterly unreadable.

"And?" she asked.

He could not contain the news any longer. He had had every intention of speaking slowly and casually, as though it was not very important to him and letting Andromeda guess herself what the Dark Lord had proposed to him, but excitement overtook him.

"He has offered to make me a Death Eater!"

Rabastan had fully expected her face to break into a wide smile and for her to fling her arms around him and congratulate him, but she did not. She simply stared, and something in the pit of his stomach tightened.

"A… Death Eater?" Andromeda asked at last.

"Yes… a Death Eater…"

"One of his followers?"

"Yes."

"And…" If anything, that was trepidation in Andromeda's voice – nothing like what he had been expecting. "Did you… accept?"

"Of- of course I accepted," he said, frowning slightly. "Why would I not?"

"Why _would_ you?"

"Why would I?" he echoed. It was difficult to believe how incredibly uninterested Andromeda seemed in this whole matter. Had it been Andromeda who had been offered a position as a Death Eater and accepted it, Rabastan would have been _thrilled_ for her. He would have swept her up in her arms and…

_Well, he would have if he had the strength._

But she seemed almost irritated at him for accepting. No, not _almost_ irritated – _certainly_ irritated and perhaps even a little angry, and he couldn't have begun to imagine why. She had always said it was better to side with the Dark Lord, hadn't she?

"Andromeda," he said, reaching out, hesitating for a moment, then putting his hand on her cheek and turning her head so that she was facing him, "I… I want to share this with you."

"Pardon me?"

"Everything that I can gain from being a Death Eater… everything that will be granted to me… I want to share it with you."

Andromeda stared, then shook her head slightly. "I don't understand what you mean, Rabastan."

"What I mean- _think…_" He grasped her hands in his, clinging to them and looking at her with great eagerness. "You _know_ how well people say the Dark Lord rewards his followers. Whatever rewards I'm given, I want to share them with you."

"How?" she asked tentatively, not meeting his eyes but instead looking down at their intertwined hands.

Rabastan breathed deeply. His body trembled slightly, only from nerves, then he managed to push out the words, "Andromeda… I want you to marry me."


	6. Queen for a Day II

Andromeda blinked slowly. Rabastan could feel her hands stiffen in his, a little sweat pooling on her palms. She was staring at him with a mixture of incredulity and what looked very much like despair.

"Rab…" she said softly, "what is this? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what to you?" he asked warily. Her tone made it abundantly clear to him that this was not going to go the way that he had wanted it to, that Andromeda – for all the times that she had told him that he was the man she would someday wish to marry – was not taking this proposal well.

"You _know_ how I feel about the Dark Lord, Rab!" she said, and unless Rabastan was very much mistaken, he thought that he could hear a few tears creeping into her voice.

"No, I- I don't," he said, staring at her, perplexed. "I mean… I know that you don't agree with everything that he stands for, but…"

"But _nothing!_" Andromeda jerked her hands out of Rabastan's and jumped to her feet. "I don't fancy the idea of my Mudblood friends being killed off, Rabastan! They may not be Pureblood, but that's no reason to _massacre_ them!"

"But Andromeda…" Rabastan actually managed to laugh a little, although he was feeling more than a little bit ill, "don't- don't be ridiculous. The Dark Lord isn't going to massacre Mudbloods. Mother and Father talk about him all the time, and they say he's just going to- just going to round a few of them up and get them off the streets. Not Mudbloods like your…" He broke off, hesitant to call them _friends_. Purebloods were _not_ friends with Mudbloods, not _ever_, no matter what Andromeda said. It was like saying that a human could be friends with a wild animal – only in fairy tales could it be said to happen.

"My _what_, Rab?" Andromeda asked, with a bit of venom in her voice. "My _what_?"

"Your… the Mudbloods at school…" he said, a bit helplessly.

For just a second, Rabastan thought that he might see relief on Andromeda's face, as though she had been expecting him to say something different, something worse, and this came as a relief to her. But almost instantly, her face clouded over again.

"I'm sure that he says he's not going to," she said darkly, "but don't pretend to be stupid, Rab, because I know that you aren't. You know as well as I do that if he keeps gaining power at the rate that he's going at, it's not going to be very long before he decides that it's easier to just kill everyone with any Muggle blood in them…"

"But I don't see why you're worried about that," Rabastan said, a bit exasperated. "I mean, it's not as if any of us could possibly be thought to have Muggle blood, is it? So we're safe… especially if I'm a Death Eater–"

"You're _missing my point, Rabastan!_" Andromeda said. Her voice rose to a shriek and she looked ready to slap him. "It's not about you, it's not about me, it's not about any Purebloods! I'm not worried about being killed! I'm worried about _other people!_"

He shrunk away from her, a little disturbed by her vehemence. "But Andromeda–"

"No! No, no '_But Andromeda_'s!"

Her eyes were wild, and for a moment, Rabastan was quite sure that he was looking at Bellatrix. His heart leapt and he jolted back. Bellatrix in anger was terrifying, but to see her in her little sister was a thousand times worse, because Andromeda had, for so long, been such a calm and stoic force in Rabastan's life. She did not scream at him, she did not rage – even when he deserved it.

"Andi…" he whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to get to the ground, get to his feet so that he could run away if he needed to.

"Don't you _Andi_ me! Why would you do this? _Why_ would you give your- your _life_ to him?"

"I'm not giving my life to him!" Rabastan said, and now he could feel the stirrings of anger in his chest as well. "You act as though I've pledged my soul to him, and that's not what I've done!"

"Isn't it, though?" If he hadn't known her so well, he wouldn't have been able to tell, but he could see in the way her lips were twisting that she was trying with all her might to hold back tears. "What do you know about the Death Eaters, Rabastan? Do you think it's just a _job_?"

"No," he said, also trying to keep his voice steady and free of both the anger in his chest and the tears now stinging the back of his eyes, "I don't think it's like a job. I think it's like a- like a _position_. Like… like royalty is a position–"

Andromeda let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Only you, Rab- only a Lestrange would see this as though it's making you into _royalty_."

He bristled automatically. "Just what do you mean by that?"

"_Maybe_," Andromeda said, sounding almost hysterical, "just _maybe_ you – and your whole family, while we're at it – ought to stop trying to make yourselves into royalty and work out that it's _never_ going to happen!" She slid off the wall and took a step towards Rabastan, her eyes narrowed and an unusually vindictive sneer upon her face. "Not even if you became a Death Eater…"

"I don't try to make myself into royalty!" he protested.

"Like Hell you don't!" Andromeda shrieked, and now she really did sound hysterical. "That's what this is – that's what this is about – that's what this has _always_ been about! You Lestranges just can't handle the thought that you _aren't_ royalty and you're never going to _be_ royalty, so you're just- you're just hoping that the Dark Lord will give you that status and–"

Rabastan slapped her.

He had never slapped Andromeda before – had never slapped anyone at all, not even a little smack at his brother when they were children – and Andromeda reeled. Her eyes went wide with surprise and though the slap could not have been very hard, for it barely stung Rabastan's hand, she clutched her cheek and let out a short cry of something like dismay.

Rabastan stood frozen for a moment, staring at her. He felt a dull throb go through his palm and looked down at it with an expression almost akin to a belief of betrayal, for that was what he felt. He felt as though his hand had betrayed him by rising up and hitting Andromeda.

Even though she deserved it for what she had been saying about his family.

There was silence between them for a moment, punctuated only by Andromeda's strangled gasps of surprise, and then she found her voice.

"Rabastan Lestrange, how _dare_ you lay a hand on me!" she shouted. He looked up at her and saw tears glazing her eyes. Another pulse went through his hand, and it seemed this time to travel up to his arm and into his chest where the pulse settled like a weight on his heart.

"I'm sorry, Andromeda," he said quietly, but she shook her head, looking positively furious.

"No! I don't care if you're sorry – you _hit_ me!"

"Not hard!" he said defensively, then wished that he hadn't because at that, Andromeda looked a thousand times angrier than before.

"Not _hard_– do you think _that's_ what it's about?" she screamed at him. "You think you _hurt_ me? Of course that's not it, you useless little- you couldn't _ever_ hurt me, you're not strong enough!"

Rabastan winced.

"But if you think," Andromeda hissed, her voice going low and venomous, "if you think even for a _second_ that I am _ever_ going to look at you like a friend again, you are _dead wrong_." A triumphant smile curved her lips. "I'll tell Bellatrix that you hit me and she'll tell Rodolphus, and he'll make sure that you're sorted out properly!"

"Don't tell–" Rabastan began, then gave up. He couldn't muster the energy to beg – it was hard enough to stay upright. Slapping Andromeda had drained him in a way that he couldn't understand. He felt weak and dizzy the way he did if he didn't eat enough or take the potions that kept him something resembling healthy.

"I'll tell if I want to!" Andromeda snapped, but Rabastan was no longer listening. He felt wretched, positively wretched, and suddenly his knees were going weak, and…

"Andi, help me," he tried to whisper, but he wasn't sure if the words reached his mouth, or if they went silent in his throat. He could feel himself going numb and tried to reach out to catch hold of Andromeda but before he could be sure whether he did or not, the world had gone black and Rabastan slipped into the merciful oblivion of unconsciousness.


	7. Ivory Tower

"We were just talking and he fainted, I swear," Andromeda was insisting when Rabastan opened his eyes. He felt warm, a little weak, and the world swam in and out of focus, but he was able to make out her voice.

"Andi?" he croaked.

"Shh…" It wasn't Andromeda who spoke, but Rodolphus, and Rabastan felt his brother's warm, strong hand squeeze his own. A jolt of panic shocked him instantly – had Andromeda told about how he had hit her? She had _said_ she was going to and Andromeda was hardly one to go back on promises, but surely if she had, Rodolphus would not have been so comforting…

_God_, how Rabastan wished he could take back what he had done.

"Andi," he said again, sitting up and moaning as his head spun. He pressed his fingers to his temples and drew deep, shuddering breaths, trying to steady himself.

"I ought to go," Andromeda said, and she sounded to Rabastan as though she was speaking from a very great distance away. "I promised Mother and Father I wouldn't be late to dinner when I went out today – they'll be worried."

"Yes, of course, go." Maria also sounded very far away, even further than Andromeda, and her voice faded out into an indiscernible whisper. For a moment, Rabastan strained to hear it, then he gave up and lay back, closing his eyes again.

For a few moments, everything was quiet, calm and silent, and then Rodolphus's voice sounded loudly in Rabastan's ear. "Rab, what happened?"

He jolted upright, clutching his head, which was pounding again at the noise. "Nothing! Nothing happened!"

"You fainted!" It was difficult for Rabastan to focus, but he thought that Rodolphus looked a little hurt. "You fainted and Andromeda had to drag you back here while you were unconscious – I think that counts as 'something happening'."

"But that's all, Rod," Rabastan insisted. "I _just_ fainted, I do that all the time…" Even he thought that he sounded a bit sullen when he said that, but tried to shake the tone. "Don't worry about me…"

"You're my brother, Rab. Of course I'm going to worry about you."

"Well, don't!" Rabastan turned and glared at him, his eyes narrowing into slits. "_Don't_ worry about me, don't feel sorry for me and don't _baby _me!"

"Rab, what's this–"

"I'm tired!" Rabastan's voice rose several notes and he was aware that he sounded hysterical but he didn't care. "I'm tired of you – and Mother and Father and Bellatrix and Andromeda and _everyone_ – treating me like a child! I'm _not!_"

"Well, you do a good impression!" Rodolphus snapped, but Rabastan didn't care.

"You all act as though- just because I'm not _strong_, I'm not good for anything! You act as though I need to be- to be _taken care of!_ Well, I don't! I'm not a child! _I'm not a child!_"

"Rabastan–"

"The Dark Lord understood!" he shouted, cutting Rodolphus off. "He could tell! He wanted me for a Death Eater – not Mother or Father or Bellatrix or Andromeda and _certainly_ not _you!_"

The blood drained from Rodolphus's face. For a second, he looked shocked, then he stood up, backing away from Rabastan and looking furious.

"The Dark Lord doesn't _understand_," he spat. "He has dozens of Death Eaters; there's nothing about you that makes you different. And don't know that he didn't ask me to become a Death Eater either. So don't act like you're suddenly special just because he wants you to fight for him."

Rabastan didn't say anything and watched in silence as his brother stormed out.

_I hit Andromeda. I insulted Rodolphus. God…_ He buried his face in his hands, sighing. It pained him to think that he was hurting people who he _thought_ cared about them, but if this was the way they were going to act…

His stomach churned slightly, but not so much that it stopped him from dragging himself to his feet and making his way to the French doors that opened onto his balcony. He pulled them open and stepped outside, gripping the railing to keep himself upright. There was a wind blowing and dark, swirling clouds upon the horizon that had not been there when he had been outside with Andromeda.

A storm was coming.

Rabastan leaned on the railing and stared out at the moors. It felt like an eternity since he had been happy when he was out there – but then, maybe that was his own fault. Maybe if he just stopped trying to talk to Andromeda…

No, he couldn't do that.

He felt something wet on his cheek and touched it, slightly surprised. Tears?

_Crying over Andromeda?_

_Why_ was he crying over Andromeda? Why waste tears on her?

She didn't want him to be a Death Eater – what could she do about it? She wasn't the one in charge of his life, nor the one who had to live it. If he wanted to serve the Dark Lord, he would.

_Oh, he would…_

He would have been _so_ willing to serve, to prove – not only to the Dark Lord, but to himself, and most especially to his family – that he could be of just as much use as – and perhaps more than – any _able-bodied _man.

He propped his elbow on the railing and his chin on his hand and stared out across the moors, allowing himself to slip into happy fantasies of what he would do to serve the Dark Lord. He would learn to fight better than any man ever had, and his Lord would praise him…

It was, perhaps, nothing more than his imagination, but he was sure that he could hear the Dark Lord's voice in the wind as gazed at the sky and the curtains blew around him.

He would do more than any other Death Eater had ever done… serve his master like none of them would…

The thought made him breathless.

He turned, intending to go back inside, back to bed, but something caught his eye. He leaned over the edge of the balcony as far as he could, squinting to try to see more clearly and cursing his weak vision.

At first, he thought he might have imagined it, but no. Andromeda was there. Andromeda, who had said that she was going home to her parents, was standing out on the moors, close enough to Lestrange Manor that Rabastan could just see her form, a blurry figure upon the rolling horizon.

"Andromeda," he tried to call, but his voice was lost in the howling winds, and she could not have heard.

She was talking to someone.

He couldn't tell who it was – he couldn't even make a guess at the distance; the only reason he had recognized Andromeda was by the sea-green fabric of her skirt – but the figure looked distinctly _male._

"Andromeda!" he shouted, raising his voice as loudly as it would go as though that would do any good. Andromeda didn't move, but unless Rabastan was very much mistaken, the person she was with – _the boy that she was with _– had reached out and laid a hand on her.

Rabastan couldn't watch.

He stumbled backwards and slammed the French doors so hard that the panes rattled in them, then yanked the drapes shut over them so he wouldn't have to see. Barely had they closed when he heard a clap of thunder, which made him jump and his heart beat wildly.

Would Andromeda be safe out on the moors during a thunderstorm? He had heard stories of people being electrocuted by lightning because there was nothing else around them, people struck down and killed and found weeks later with their corpses charred and blackened…

_Dear God._

Perhaps he should go tell his parents that Andromeda was still outside–

But no. No, he would not do that. His lip curled derisively – the boy she was with could protect her, or if she had any sense at all, she'd get inside. And if she didn't, if the boy she was staying out in the storm to talk to didn't protect her, well then, it would be her own damn fault if she was struck down.

_So heartless, Rabastan?_ asked a tiny, timid voice in his head, and Rabastan shuddered at the sound.

_Yes. I will be as heartless as I please. The Dark Lord needs heartless men for his servants._

He turned his back on the window and strode purposefully to his bed, falling down onto it and pulling his quilt around him, curling up in the warm cocoon of blankets and closing his eyes. The gale was rattling the trees in his garden, shaking the glass of the windows, but Rabastan found it oddly comforting.

He hoped that the storm would force Andromeda inside. He hoped she had the sense to go in.

He hoped that it would force her inside so that she would leave the boy she was with and he wouldn't have to think about them anymore.


	8. Nur eine Minute

Rabastan did not leave his room the next morning. He lay in bed with the quilts pulled up over him, casting only rare glances at the window. The day was overcast and grey and there was still a faint drizzle of rain splashing against the window and balcony.

He tried not to think of Andromeda.

He tried only to think of the Dark Lord, for at least those could be pleasant thoughts. He lay abed with his eyes shut and entertained his fantasies of being the Dark Lord's favourite until he was breathless, but that always brought him back to Andromeda, and to remembering the look on her face when he had slapped her.

What had he been _thinking?_

Rabastan's hand clenched automatically into a fist beneath the sheets. He dug his nails into his palm and felt a small rush of relief when the skin broke. _Good._ He was hurting himself more than he had hurt Andromeda, and he deserved it.

She had _never_ done anything to hurt him, _never!_ If he had slapped Bellatrix, that would have been slightly reasonable, at least – or Rodolphus, he could have justified it to himself if he had hit his brother. But Andromeda had been so _good_ to him.

Well…

_You couldn't ever hurt me, you're not strong enough!_

It cut him, stung right to his core that she could say something like that to him when she _knew_ how he felt about being called weak. She knew better than anyone, for she had been the one he would confide in when he felt particularly useless – which was far more often than he would have cared to admit. She was the one who he could talk to about his illness, who he had _thought_ would never mock him for not being as strong as her.

But…

And if Bellatrix was to be believed, this wasn't the first time that Andromeda had made some jab about his strength. If Bellatrix was to be believed, she had mocked him, she had called him an invalid…

_But Bellatrix is not to be believed!_

He pressed the insides of his wrists against his eyes until stars popped before them, taking deep breaths and trying to steady himself. He _knew_ that Bellatrix was a liar, that she loved to embellish and alter stories until they bore little resemblance to the truth. And she had not _actually_ said that Andromeda had called Rabastan an invalid – that had been his own conclusion, though the way Andromeda reacted to it had given him ample reason to believe it was the truth.

But even if she _hadn't_ called him an invalid, she had still said he was weak.

Said it _to him_, to his face…

A dry sob escaped Rabastan's lips, and he bit his tongue to quiet himself.

Well, _obviously_ he _was_ weak. If he was strong, he wouldn't have been crying over it. Strong men didn't cry. Rodolphus didn't cry – at least, not that Rabastan had seen, not since they had been very small children.

Rabastan would have bet a great deal that the Dark Lord had never cried. Someone like him had probably never even entertained the notion of shedding a tear over someone – not like Rabastan, who was sitting in bed, weeping like a girl, weeping like the useless, weak little creature that he was.

What did the Dark Lord want with him? Why would he want someone who was so _obviously_ a sick, unhealthy boy who would probably die before he could be of any real use? Surely he had been able to _tell_ how ill Rabastan was…

Why would he want someone like him?

Rodolphus had said that the Dark Lord didn't understand and only wanted Rabastan to fight for him, but Rabastan couldn't quite bring himself to believe that was true. Part of it was because it would have quite certainly killed him if he had really tried to believe it, but another part, he was sure, was that he couldn't think of any reason that the Dark Lord would have offered a position as a Death Eater if he hadn't understood _something._

Surely, if they were all just pawns that mattered not at all to him, he would have chosen Rodolphus. Rodolphus was strong and hearty and had done well in school – not that Rabastan _hadn't_ done well enough, as he never had much to do except study – and would have been the obvious choice if all the Dark Lord wanted were soldiers…

So the very fact that he had chosen Rabastan instead of Rodolphus _surely_ meant that he could see that there was something… something _special_ about Rabastan that he wanted…

That was what he hoped, in any case.

_Why hadn't he been able to explain that all to Andromeda?_

_Why_ couldn't he have said it when it mattered? Why couldn't he have told her his reasons instead of just snapping at her like an _idiot_? If he had just been able to tell her _why_ he wanted to be a Death Eater, if he had just been able to explain what he _felt_ to her, then maybe she wouldn't have gotten upset at him and then maybe she wouldn't have called him weak and then he wouldn't have slapped her.

_God, but you're stupid, Rab._

And why _hadn't_ he explained it? Now that he was replaying the whole scene in his mind, it seemed like everything he'd said had been stupid. _Your Mudbloods_ – of _course_ she'd been offended when he said that…

Rabastan sat up in bed and groaned as the blood rushed from his head. He clawed at his bedside table for the bottle of potion that he kept there – just an old wine bottle, filled and refilled with dark, cloudy liquid that the healers had instructed him to take every morning. He took a mouthful of it, and his vision – spotty from dizziness – cleared instantly.

He would go see Andromeda right that very minute, that was what he would do. He would go to her and apologize for hitting her and explain what he felt – and surely after that, she wouldn't be angry at him anymore. Surely if he explained properly, she would be able to forgive him – she was _so_ good, _so_ understanding… and if she did not, then at least he would be able to say to himself that he had tried, and that if she still hated him, it was her stubbornness that was at fault.

Rabastan clambered out of bed, pausing for a moment to cling to the bedpost while the whole world spun and shimmered, then his head cleared and he was able to make it to the door, pausing only briefly to glance in the mirror. He looked as sickly as ever – and unkempt to boot, his hair a mess from sleeping on it – but he didn't care. Andromeda wouldn't care. He could already imagine her, sitting out on the wall, and the smile that would curve her lips when she saw him…

Andromeda _would_ be at the wall, wouldn't she? She wouldn't be out somewhere with that boy from the moors again…

The thought froze Rabastan on the spot. He hadn't even considered that Andromeda might not be waiting for him.

Worse even than the idea of Andromeda _not_ being at the wall in favour of being with the boy, was the idea that she _might_ have brought him there… that she might be right where Rabastan expected to find her, but in the arms of someone else…

The thought sickened him. Images of Andromeda underneath some faceless boy, her skirts around her hips and his hands all over her flooded his mind, filling his vision as clearly as if she had been right in front of him.

Rabastan stood, trembling, for a painfully long moment. He considered flinging himself back into his bed and not ever having _anything_ to do with her again, but no, that was madness. He shook himself a bit, rubbing his temples.

He didn't even have any reason to believe that the boy she had been with was someone she was romantically involved with at all. He might have just been lost and asking for directions. It was silly for Rabastan to drive himself so mad over something that _probably_ wasn't even true.

Satisfied with that belief, he reached for the door, squaring his shoulders and gathering all his bravery.

His fingers had just touched the knob when the door flew open.

Rabastan jumped back, clutching his chest and feeling his heart fluttering wildly from the surprise.

The door had been opened by Rodolphus, who was now standing framed in the doorway with a positively thunderous expression on his face. He looked ready to kill and Rabastan shrank back automatically. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but before he could get a single word out, Rodolphus pointed at the bed.

"Sit down," he said sharply. "There's something that you and I need to discuss."


	9. Ghost of a Rose

Rabastan shrank automatically away from Rodolphus. His tone indicated far too strongly that he was upset at his brother, and that could, Rabastan thought, only indicate that Andromeda (that gossiping little _bitch_) had done as she threatened and told Bellatrix that Rabastan had hit her.

If he had known how to turn back time, how to take back an action, he would have done it in an instant.

"What were you _thinking_, Rab?" Rodolphus demanded, and Rabastan winced.

"Wh- what do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound innocent and, he knew, failing miserably. Rodolphus let out a harsh bark of laughter.

"Don't play stupid with me, Rabastan, don't even _try_ it. Bellatrix told me what happened, and I want to know what the _Hell_ was going through your mind when you decided it was a good idea to hit a girl!"

"She was talking down to me," Rabastan muttered, but he knew as well as his brother did that that wasn't any sort of proper excuse.

"_Talking down to you_?" Rodolphus snorted, looking away as though he was so disgusted by his younger brother that he couldn't even bear to make eye contact. "What, and _that_ was enough to make you hit her? Are you going to go through life hitting everyone who says a word about how weak you are, Rab? Do you think that's going to work out well for you?"

"What?" Rabastan leaned forward, eyes narrowing to slits. He had felt guilty before, but now there was anger swelling in his stomach. "What, do you think I ought to just – just _get used to it_, because I _am_ weak and I'll always have to listen to people acting like that makes me useless and stupid?"

"Yes!" Rodolphus snapped. "Yes, I do think that! Because it's _true!_ I know it's not fair, but life isn't fair and you'll just have to get used to the fact that as long as you're – _this_ _way_ – people are going to think you're inferior."

"But I'm _not!_"

"That isn't the _point!_" Rodolphus reached out and shook Rabastan hard. "It's not the point at all! It doesn't matter how strong you are, because everyone's always going to see you as weak! It doesn't matter how right or wrong they are, and if you want anyone to _ever_ take you seriously, you'd better learn to be a man about it!"

"Shut up!" Rabastan shouted, shoving his brother away. "What do you think you know about it? Everyone takes you seriously – everyone _knows_ you're not inferior to them!"

"Jealous?" Rodolphus sneered.

_Yes!_

"No!" Rabastan snapped. "Why would I be jealous of _you_ when _I'm_ the one who the Dark Lord–"

"Oh, give that up," Rodolphus told him. "You think that makes you so special? It doesn't! You might want to wait to start considering yourself so special until he has a _proper_ army that isn't having its meetings in the back of Borgin and Burke's – until then, all it makes you is pathetic for bringing it up every two minutes!"

"Jealous?" Rabastan parroted back at him.

"Hardly!"

"I'm sure," hissed Rabastan, then he pushed past his brother, all but dashing out of the house before Rodolphus could say another word. He sprinted out into the gardens, his head pounding.

"Rab, don't you run away from me!" Rodolphus shouted out the window, but Rabastan ignored him – _as if he was going to come back now_ – and continued out onto the moors.

He didn't head for the wall where he and Andromeda and Bellatrix sat, but wandered off in the opposite direction, clutching his chest to try to ease the pain that had sprung up in it from running.

Everything felt wonderfully serene, especially in comparison to how things had been in the house. He could hear water running from a stream somewhere nearby, a crow cawing somewhere in the distance, but there were no other people here.

Oh… but yes, there were.

Rabastan stopped, straining his ears, and he was _sure_ that he was hearing Andromeda's voice.

"Promise me you'll think of me…"

His blood ran cold in his veins.

The boy. The boy she had been out with last night, during the storm – she was here with him again. That was the only explanation that Rabastan could even begin to think of, and his head began to spin again. He turned slowly on the spot, trying to pick up the sounds of voices again.

"…You're so…"

Yes, that was a male voice, and Rabastan was _positive_ that the one before had been Andromeda's.

Slowly, fearful of coming into their sight – they must have been obscured by some hillock, for he couldn't make anyone out – Rabastan started to edge towards the voices.

He wanted to cry when he saw them.

They were sitting in the grass, and her head was on his shoulder. Rabastan dropped back, falling to his knees so that they wouldn't see his shadow should the sun decide to come out.

"Who's that boy you're always with?" the boy asked, and Andromeda turned her head a little, looking up at him.

"What boy?"

_Me,_ Rabastan wanted to shout. _She's always with _me!_ She's going to marry me!_

"That one that you and your sister hang about with… every time I see you, you're with them."

"Oh, that's just Rabastan Lestrange," Andromeda said.

_Just Rabastan Lestrange – as though being a Lestrange was something that deserved to be preceded by a _just_!_

"Do you fancy him?"

"No," Andromeda laughed, and Rabastan felt his heart sink to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.

"I used to," she continued, "but I think he's falling in with the Death Eaters and I don't want anything to do with anyone like _that_, you know? He was bragging about it yesterday, then he hit me…"

"He _hit_ you?"

"You can see why I don't fancy him," said Andromeda.

Rabastan would have dearly loved to interrupt them, to shout that that wasn't the whole story, that Andromeda wasn't being fair, but he couldn't. He kept his mouth shut, though he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

"He sounds awful," the boy said.

"He is a bit… he used to be a lot better, I don't know what's gotten into him." For just a moment, Andromeda sounded almost regretful, then she laughed softly, mildly. "It doesn't really matter, though. I'm not going to pine after him or wish that he was different or anything like that."

_I am._

Rabastan pressed his hands over his eyes.

_I'm going to pine after you. I'll wish things were different._

He struggled to his feet, trying to be quiet, and backed away from them. He didn't want to see them together anymore, didn't want to hear Andromeda talking about how she didn't fancy him and thought – thought that he didn't _deserve_ someone as good as her, as if…

He backed away, then turned and ran, getting only a few yards before he slowed. He didn't want to go back to the manor, where Rodolphus would undoubtedly be waiting to tell him how awful he was for hitting Andromeda, as if he didn't already know.

_Maybe he wouldn't ever go home_, he thought. Maybe he would stay out on the moors forever, until he got so weak from not having his medicine that he collapsed and lay in the grass to die… and then Andromeda and her new _friend_ could find his body sprawled in the path of one of their romantic walks, with crows pecking at his eyes…

No. No, he wouldn't do that. He didn't want to give up his life over Andromeda – _she wasn't worth it,_ he tried to tell himself, though he knew that wasn't the reason. She was every bit worth it, but he didn't want to die over her because she wouldn't care. If she had _cared_, he would gladly have thrown himself on a knife for her…

He stopped, standing still and gazing out over the silent moors. There was a chill in the air that Rabastan didn't think should have been there. He shivered, tucking his hands under his arms and looking around. The mists were heavier than they had been earlier, he thought, and there were shadowy shapes in them.

"Andromeda?" he called softly, when he was _sure_ that one of the shadows was her, but there was no response, and moments later, it dissipated.

He stood so for a long time, watching the mists twisting and swirling, until he was so cold that his teeth chattered against each other. The day had gone from pleasant to absolutely frigid, and yet Rabastan still didn't want to go home.

_Where else was there?_

Andromeda didn't care anymore, Rodolphus was rightly furious at him – who else could he go to who cared in the slightest?

It took a few moments before the idea started to form and a few more before he began to smile at the thought.

Rabastan could go to the Dark Lord.


	10. Morris and Sword

Rabastan couldn't remember the last time he had been in Knockturn Alley by himself. He left the manor and the immediate surrounding moors rarely enough and went into the city even more rarely. Rodolphus had always bought his school things for him because Maria and Joseph considered Rabastan's frailty to make it impossible for him to be out of the house and wandering around Diagon Alley without his brother on his arm. A handful of times, Andromeda had coddled his parents into letting him accompany her on a trip into the city, but–

_Don't think about Andromeda._

The image of Andromeda and that boy was burned into Rabastan's mind, and the echo of their words pounded in his head.

_He sounds awful…_

_He is a bit…_

_You can see why I don't fancy him…_

"Stop it," he whispered to himself, pressing his hands over his ears in the hope that that would block out the sounds of their voices, though he knew full well from more experience than he liked to think he had that covering one's ears did nothing to make the voices go away.

Rabastan breathed deeply, then dropped his hands, straightened his back, and strode down the narrow, winding alley with all the confidence that he could muster. He feared it wasn't much – confidence, even false confidence, was not something that he was often able to convey – but he did manage to turn up his nose at the men and women who sneered at him from their corners of the street. He kept his eyes forward and ignored the soft catcalls, no doubt attracted by his slightness – they probably thought him very young.

It came as a blessed relief when he made it to Borgin and Burke's at last, shoved open the door, and was at last able to slip into the quiet of the store.

"May I help you?"

The Dark Lord's voice was as smooth and cool as Rabastan had remembered it from their one brief meeting. He looked around quickly, then inclined his head as he stepped out from behind a shelf, looking enquiringly at Rabastan.

"Young Master Lestrange, isn't it?" he asked, and Rabastan flushed with pride that his name was remembered.

"Yes, sir – Rabastan Lestrange…"

"And what brings you here?" he asked, all cordial curiosity. It was unclear to Rabastan whether he was just being polite or if he genuinely cared about him – given the stature of the Dark Lord, he was inclined to think the former – but he cleared his throat softly, trying to sound casual and not so much like he was seconds from tears.

"I- I desired to see you, my Lord…"

"I would have made that assumption, as you have come to my place of employ…" His lip curled a tiny bit as though in disgust, and he swiftly added, "My _temporary_ place of employ."

"Yes, my Lord," Rabastan stammered, a flush rising in his cheeks. "I- I simply wished…"

"Wished what?" he asked, and if Rabastan was not mistaken, he thought he detected impatience and perhaps even anger beneath the cool, polite but rather emotionless façade. "You surely had some fine reason for coming to me, but now you sound as if you'd rather leave… of course, if that is the case…?" He lifted one hand almost gracefully and indicated the door.

"No!" Rabastan cried out, and then, realizing how terribly desperate he must have sounded, he lowered his voice. "No, please… I don't want to leave, I just…"

"I prefer my Death Eaters to be articulate," the Dark Lord told him. "So if you cannot even say what you want from me…"

"It's about me becoming a Death Eater," Rabastan said quickly, before the Dark Lord could finish.

"Having second thoughts?" He looked Rabastan up and down with disdain. "I should have expected it…"

"I'm not having second thoughts – I _want_ to be a Death Eater…"

"And the matter displeases your brother?" the Dark Lord asked, looking at Rabastan shrewdly.

"What- it- no, no it doesn't… it doesn't displease my brother…" Rabastan swallowed, and the flush that so often painted his cheeks – that had already been visible – must have darkened several shades. He looked down at his hands, slowly digging his nails into his palms and releasing them so that he could watch the pale crescents darken and turn red where the pressure had been.

"You lie."

He looked up sharply. "I do not."

"Do not lie to me, Rabastan." He sounded almost bored with the whole matter – not upset that Rabastan was lying, simply tired and a touch matter-of-fact. "I know when lies are being told."

"It- well…" Rabastan hesitated, then said, very slowly, "I suppose it does rather displease my brother that you requested me instead of him… but that is- that is not the reason I'm here…"

"Then, pray tell, what is?"

If Rabastan had been more daring, he might have challenged the Dark Lord to guess, for he was obviously a skilled enough legilimens to know when Rabastan was telling a lie. Surely if he could do that, he would be able to tell what Rabastan's purpose had been when he came down Knockturn Alley and entered Borgin and Burke's with the intention of speaking to the Dark Lord. But Rabastan did not have the nerve to speak so, so he simply said, "A friend…"

"Ah." The Dark Lord shook his head, looking mildly displeased. "Friends… a friend disapproved of your invitation to join our most noble cause, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"A friend you felt… a great deal for, I daresay?" he breathed, leaning forward with his eyebrows drawing together slightly. He examined Rabastan as though Rabastan was a specimen under a microscope and he shifted uncomfortably, wondering how many of the thoughts buried deep in his mind, in secret places where even he could not always find them, were being revealed to this man.

"Yes, sir," Rabastan repeated quietly. "I had intended to marry her."

"A friend you _loved_, then?"

The very way he said _loved_ was thicker with scorn than any word that Rabastan had ever heard anyone say in his life. It sent chills up his spine, just the way that the Dark Lord was able to take a word that generally signified such comfort and happiness and twist it with his tongue into something that sounded more like a curse than a description of an emotion.

"I… I…" Rabastan stammered, unsure of how to answer. He had never cared much for attempting to put his feelings into words – if he did that, he would have had to examine them closely, and that was not something that he enjoyed doing. He liked to leave his emotions in a churning mess out of his own mind and try to ignore them. Putting a word like _love_ onto them would have made them concrete, unpleasant…

But if he had tried to describe – in one word – how he felt for Andromeda, he supposed that _love_ came closer than anything else that he could have said.

But the way the Dark Lord was looking at him now, and the way he had said _love_ with such derision, made Rabastan unwilling to call it that. The Dark Lord and the promise of being a Death Eater were near enough to being all that he had, and he dared not ruin that by saying something that might cause the Dark Lord to think even less of him than he already did.

"I might have once," he said, as airily as he could manage. He tried to match the Dark Lord's cordial but careless tone, though he feared he sounded foolish. "She's proven to have made an… unfortunate decision."

"She decided that she fancied someone else more than you."

Rabastan startled. "How did you know that?"

"I know a great many things, Rabastan Lestrange…" he breathed, and Rabastan's stomach turned.

_Does he know what I've been thinking of him?_

"Now," he continued, his voice low and intent and his eyes boring into Rabastan's, "are you going to let some foolish infatuation with a girl who does not understand the importance of the Death Eaters upset you?"

_It already has upset me._

"No, sir," Rabastan said quietly, barely able to speak above a frightened squeak. He must have sounded like a schoolboy being reprimanded by a teacher, but that was how he felt – frightened and nervous and ever so slightly humiliated.

"I thought not," the Dark Lord breathed, sitting back slowly. "Then you are still quite certain you would like to be a part of our cause?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he said. "Then you may go."

Rabastan stood up, slightly numb. "Thank you for taking the time to speak to me, my Lord…"

"Not at all," he said. "I shall contact you shortly about receiving the Dark Mark."

"Thank you, sir," Rabastan whispered, and he hurried outside, flushed, panting and all but ecstatic that the Dark Lord had spoken to him.

And he was correct – Rabastan ought not to sacrifice the opportunity to be a Death Eater, to fight for a cause that he believed in and prove _at last_ that he was _something_ merely on account of Andromeda, who did not care for him in any case, if her behaviour when she was with _that boy_ was any indication.

_But she's your closest friend. You do love her, no matter what you told the Dark Lord._

Rabastan shook the thought from his mind.

That didn't matter.

He could forget Andromeda so easily.

It wouldn't be so terribly difficult, surely, to put her from his mind.


	11. Loreley

Rabastan didn't talk to his brother after he came home. Indeed, he looked at and spoke to no one, going directly to his bedroom to quietly brood over Andromeda, and over what the Dark Lord had said.

Infatuation, he had called Rabastan's feelings for Andromeda. Infatuation, as though they were not the most real and honest feelings in the world – as though they were merely the product of some enraged love spell or moment of foolishness…

Had he been right to think of them as such?

The thought made Rabastan feel uncomfortable, a little bit awkward and quite unsure of himself, for he used to think that what he felt for Andromeda was so far and away beyond what any other person could feel for someone else, but he had been so sure, when the Dark Lord's eyes were on him, that Andromeda was of no interest to him at all…

Had the Dark Lord bewitched him to think so?

No, no, that was foolish. The Dark Lord would not need to put a spell on a man to make him lose interest in his beloved - what possible use would he have for doing that? No, it had just been that Rabastan's thoughts had been so clear and true while the Dark Lord's eyes had been on him that they had been unmarred by what he felt for Andromeda.

Which had surely been no more than obsession and lust.

_Lust?_

Had it been lust? Rabastan had been quick and willing to dismiss it as such, but as he thought, he could remember no instances in which he had been desperate for Andromeda in any sort of physical way… he had desired her company, her arms around him, perhaps, but he could never remember an instance in which he had wanted to make love to her…

Of course it was lust. What else could it be? Not love…

"Rabastan," his mother called up the stairs, and Rabastan recognized from her sugared tones that she surely had company with her downstairs. Most likely, it was Druella Black – Druella had the effect on Maria of making her feel as if she was inadequately ladylike, and she attempted to compensate by being infuriatingly sweet.

"Coming, Mother," Rabastan called, breathing deeply and trying to force all thoughts of Andromeda from his mind.

And he managed it as well, until he strode down the stairs and came face to face, not only with Druella, but with Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa, all lined up in a row like china dolls upon the couch with matching painted-on smiles and matching glassy eyes. Andromeda glanced at Rabastan and her lips twitched a bit, and she raised one hand in a small wave, just a simple gesture of greeting, but Rabastan ignored it and averted his eyes from her so that he could pretend not to see.

She revolted him so.

He was thinking of her now in her other boy's arms, and he had no doubt that that was what she was thinking as well, when she looked at him – not that she cared for him, not that she loved him, as he would once have presumed that she thought whenever she laid eyes on him, but that she was doing all she could to replace him in her mind with another.

"Rabastan, do go into the dining room and wait for us, won't you?" Maria asked, still in her sickeningly sweet voice. Just hearing it, and seeing the simpering, stupid expression on his mother's face made Rabastan want to retch.

"Yes, Mother," he said, more than eager to get away from her, and, more over, from Andromeda, whose eyes were burning into the back of his neck. He hurried out of the room, into the hall, and was granted a moment of peace.

The moment lasted only that – a moment – before the door to the parlour swung back open and Andromeda strode out. She had an expression of hurt on her face, coupled with anger that was all too reminiscent of an expression that Bellatrix might wear.

"What have I done to upset you?" she demanded, and Rabastan flinched back. He disliked being snapped at – after all, who did not? – but it was so many thousands of times worse when the person snapping at him had once been the person who he considered his closest confidante.

Now that role had surely been taken away by the Dark Lord… the Dark Lord knew more of the dark depths of Rabastan's soul than Andromeda ever could have hoped to. She knew nothing. She understood nothing.

"You've done nothing."

"Clearly not!" Andromeda snapped. She planted her hands on her hips and bore down on Rabastan – so much bigger and stronger than he was, that her presence was, in fact, a touch threatening. He tried to back away, but ran into the wall, and she was still moving closer. He was trapped.

"I don't know why you think that you have the right to be angry at me," Andromeda hissed. "You're the one who decided to run off and join a group that you and I both know will do you nothing but harm! The _Death Eaters_…!" She said the words with the strongest of contempt. "What is it that you're suddenly so interested in about them? Just because the Dark Lord said that you would make a suitable one… he must say that to dozens of men!"

"I'm sure he does," Rabastan said, trying to keep the tremors of anger out of his voice. "I'm sure he says it to plenty of men. But if the choice is between him and _you_…"

"This is what I mean! What have I done to make you so angry – I swear, Rabastan, I don't know why you hate me so suddenly! Is it just because I wouldn't dance and skip and be merry with you over… _him_?"

"No, it isn't that," Rabastan snapped impatiently. "It isn't that at all, and you know quite well what it is, so I'll thank you to stop acting as if you don't. You must think I'm stupid, don't you, Andromeda?" he added, his whole body shaking now. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands and glared at her viciously. "Do you think I'm stupid because I'm weak? Do you think the sickness has affected my brain so much that I can't tell when I'm being lied to?"

"I've never lied to you, Rabastan!"

"You have!" His voice rose several notes and he was aware that he must have sounded hysterical, though he tried not to. "You lie to me, and you think that I should bow down to you–"

"I don't think that for a second, it's your precious Dark Lord who wants to be bowed down to!"

"And you think I'm never going to find out because you think I just stay in this house all day and mourn how poor and weak I am, except when I go out with you and your sister because I can't even walk over the moors by myself!"

"What are you _on about_, Rabastan?" Andromeda demanded. She reached out and shook him, and his neck snapped back and forth feebly as he attempted not to lose his balance. "What are you talking about?"

"That boy!" he shouted, and then everything was silent.

Andromeda stepped back from him slowly, her hands falling to her sides and her eyes going wide. She regarded him warily, as if she was looking at a predator, a wolf or some other variety of wild animal that would pounce on her and tear her to pieces should she make anything resembling a wrong move. Rabastan's chest heaved and he looked at her, with – at last – triumph.

"That boy," he repeated, more quietly this time, for the corridor in which they were standing had become so silent that he could hear every pounding beat of his own heart and every shallow, ragged breath that Andromeda was gulping in. "That boy you were with."

"I haven't been with any boys," she said, but the lie was obvious in her eyes and Rabastan let out a short, harsh bark of laughter.

"Oh, I'm sure you haven't. I'm sure that the one I _saw_ you with wasn't really a boy at all – just a figment of my deluded imagination, was he?"

"No, Rab, don't be like that–"

"Honest?" he challenged. "Don't be honest? No, don't be _stupid,_ Andi – I know what I saw, and I know what you said to him about me!"

"Rab, I didn't–"

"_You can see why I don't fancy him_," he mocked, imitating what she had said in a high-pitched voice. "_I'm not going to pine after him_… what, you didn't say any of that, then? You didn't say all that to a certain boy?"

Andromeda's mouth opened and then closed, and she stared at Rabastan. "Rab…"

"So don't start," he hissed, spitting out every word as if it tasted foul. "Don't you ever start telling me that you haven't been with boys, or that I'm the one that matters to you, because I know differently. I know _better_."

Then he turned around and strode away from her, into the dining room, leaving her behind him with an expression of shock and confusion upon her face, and only when he was alone, with only the house-elves who were finishing setting out the last few dishes on the table, did Rabastan allow himself to double over, cover his eyes with his hands, and let out a dry, hopeless, heart-wrenching sob.


	12. Where Are We Going from Here?

Andromeda did not look at or speak to Rabastan all through the dinner. She kept her eyes down on her own plate and only answered questions posed to her out of politeness by Maria and Joseph, which suited Rabastan perfectly well. He wanted little more to do with her – she had done nothing but make life miserable for him. It was better to cut all ties with her now.

When they were excused from dinner, Andromeda tried to catch Rabastan's arm as they left the dining room, but he shoved her away without looking and headed upstairs without giving her a second glance.

It was easier than he had expected.

He had thought that it would be torturous to act so coldly to someone who meant so much to him – or, rather, to someone _who had once_ meant so much to him. But when the urge to look back, to go back, to take her hands and beg her forgiveness gripped him so tightly that he found it difficult to move, he thought of the Dark Lord.

_The Dark Lord would be proud of you for keeping your eyes off of her._

And the Dark Lord was the important person now. Not Andromeda. It was the Dark Lord who had put Rabastan on a path that would lead him to greatness – not Andromeda, who would want to keep him off that path.

So he pushed Andromeda – and her boyfriend, or whatever she wanted to call him – to the back of his mind and thought of nothing but what his work for the Dark Lord would be.

He was sitting in the parlour with a book open on his lap, not really reading, but staring absently at the book and occasionally flipping pages so that Rodolphus, who was sitting across from him, would think that he was too distracted to speak.

Rodolphus had been worse than Andromeda in some ways. Andromeda had, at least, after a few attempts to see Rabastan, given up and accepted that he was avoiding her. Rodolphus not only refused to accept that Rabastan didn't want to speak to him, but was completely impossible to get away from.

Rabastan jumped when the parlour door was flung open and he saw his mother standing in the doorway with an owl perched on her arm and a letter in her hand. She rushed to Rabastan's side immediately, her cheeks flushed with what could only have been excitemement.

"Rabastan," she said, her voice all but trembling with obvious happiness. "Oh, Rabastan, a letter for you – it's from the Dark Lord…"

Rabastan set his book aside immediately and grabbed the letter. He didn't even thank his mother, but tore it open immediately.

The Dark Lord's hand was lovely; that was the first thing that Rabastan noticed. Delicate, tidy and slanted to the left, every letter perfectly formed with the precision that Rabastan could only assume the Dark Lord applied to every aspect of his life. He stared at it for a moment, admiring the way _Rabastan Lestrange _looked when spelled out in such lovely letters…

"What's it about?" Rodolphus asked, leaning over and trying to look over Rabastan's shoulder. He held it out of his reach, his cheeks colouring a bit.

"It isn't your business–"

"For God's sake, Rab, it's just a letter!"

Rabastan sniffed and looked down at it, still shielding it from his brother's sight and reading it while trying not to get caught up in admiring the handwriting.

_Mr. Rabastan Lestrange,_

_Presuming that you still hold interest in becoming a Death Eater, you will be required to attend a meeting on the twelfth of the month. There will be discussion of what your initial duties in my service would be, and assuming that my men find nothing objectionable about you, a date will be arranged upon which you shall receive the Dark Mark._

_The meeting will begin at seven o'clock in the evening and held at my present place of residence – Borgin and Burke's shop in Knockturn Alley. Under ordinary circumstances, I would provide directions, but you have already proven yourself quite capable of finding me._

"What's that?" Rodolphus asked, sounding both curious and mildly suspicious. "What does he mean that you're quite capable of finding him?"

Rabastan flushed. "It's not polite to read other people's mail, Rodolphus – don't you know that?" he snapped, quickly covering over the paper with his hands.

Rodolphus's lip curled lightly and he shrugged his shoulders. "All right, if you say…"

Rabastan, cheeks still red, looked back down at the letter.

_I am most eager to see you once more._

_Sincerely,_

Then there was an attractively scrawled signature, all sharply pointed loops that barely resembled letters. Rabastan stared at it for some time, trying to interpret exactly what the signed name was, but was interrupted by his mother.

"What does it say, Rabastan?"

He cleared his throat, swiftly folding it. He would reread it later, and revel in the pleasure of having the Dark Lord write things like _I am most eager to see you_ to him. Part of him suspected that that was a line used upon all new Death Eaters to draw them in, but Rabastan would be satisfied to believe that it was only _him _that the Dark Lord was eager to see…

"He wants me to attend a meeting," Rabastan said. "To meet the other Death Eaters and arrange a date for me to take the Dark Mark."

Maria looked ready to cry tears of happiness. "Oh- my son!" she breathed, then pulled Rabastan into a crushing embrace. "I am so- so proud…"

Rabastan twisted his head slightly and shot his brother a smirk. Rodolphus's eyes narrowed to slits and he took in a hiss of breath, clenching his hands into fists.

"I don't see any reason to think that he's so special," he muttered. "The Dark Lord has dozens of Death Eaters…"

"But he didn't want you for one, did he?" Rabastan said and Rodolphus's face flushed even more darkly, turning dark and blotchy. He stood up, glaring.

"No," he said, clearly trying very hard to sound like he didn't care but failing miserably in Rabastan's opinion. "No, he didn't want me for a Death Eater, which suits me perfectly well. He isn't going to be winning any battles or making anything of himself if he accepts people like _you_ into his army."

"Rodolphus!" Maria said, looking at him sharply. "Don't talk to your brother that way!"

"But it's the truth."

"He's just jealous, Mother," Rabastan said, sneering.

"Of _you_? Hardly!" Rodolphus spat, then turned and stormed out.

Rabastan was torn between wanting to laugh with derision at his brother, wanting to disappear into his bedroom to read and reread the Dark Lord's letter and wanting to dissolve into tears. But he did nothing, simply smiled up at his mother with a bright expression. She was still beaming at him as if she hadn't even noticed that her precious older son had just stormed out.

"I am so terribly proud," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"Thank you, Mother," Rabastan said, and he spoke humbly, taking care to keep his voice sugared and sweet. It was so rare that she expressed such feelings for him – usually, pride was an emotion reserved for Rodolphus.

"Your father will be thrilled," Maria continued, standing up. "I must send for him immediately…"

"There's no need for that," said Rabastan, shaking his head. "We can tell him over dinner…" _When Rodolphus is there to hear again. _

_Rodolphus can hear Father telling me that he's proud as well – he can finally find out what it's like not to be the centre of all the attention and the recipient of all the praise._

)O(

It was so much easier to be happy with the knowledge that the Dark Lord was waiting for him. When Rabastan's thoughts began to stray to Andromeda – or even to Rodolphus – all that he needed to do was remember the Dark Lord writing _I am most eager to see you one more_, and all bitter thoughts dissolved. Time did seem to be moving particularly slowly, the days barely inching towards the twelfth, but Rabastan could not be surprised that it seemed to be taking so long when he was counting every passing second. The letter was becoming worn and creased from how many times Rabastan had taken it out and unfolded it to reread what the Dark Lord had written to him.

"I'm glad that the Dark Lord didn't want me, if this is what he does to people who he wants," Rodolphus sneered when he saw Rabastan lying in bed with the letter. "You're obsessed, I hope you realize."

"Jealous…" Rabastan smirked, which shut Rodolphus up.

And that was what Rabastan did – just did his best to keep his brother's mouth shut until the twelfth finally came and he could go off, half-sick with excitement, to Knockturn Alley to finally see the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters.


	13. Rainbow Blues

Joseph had asked Rabastan whether he would like to be accompanied to Borgin and Burke's and Rabastan had been very vehement in his answer – _no. _He didn't want anyone there, he didn't want anyone in his family to intrude upon this, his first chance to prove himself. But as he stood in front of the darkened shop, he wondered whether he might have been better off with company.

Borgin and Burke's looked closed to Rabastan and he hesitated at the door. What if it _was_ closed? What if no one was there and the whole thing had just been a trick to torment him? The Dark Lord _had_ been far too good to him for someone of his stature, and Rabastan swallowed hard, feeling sick.

He started to back away, but he had barely made it two steps from the door before it opened.

"Rabastan Lestrange…" The Dark Lord stepped out, extending one hand for Rabastan and ushering him inside. "We've been waiting for you."

Borgin and Burke's was quite dark, lit only by a handful of candles, and Rabastan looked around hesitantly. There were several other men there, all clearly much older than him – closer to the Dark Lord's age than to his – and their faces were thrown into strange, twisted shadows from the flickering light.

"We have a new member among us," the Dark Lord said. He put his hand ever so lightly on Rabastan's shoulder, drawing him forward. "This is Rabastan Lestrange… Joseph and Maria's son."

A soft murmur went around the room and Rabastan shifted uncomfortably, unsure as to how he ought to be reacting. He briefly considered bowing, but that seemed wrong – he should surely only bow to the Dark Lord. So he stood there, awkward and trembling slightly, until one of the men stood up at last and strode towards him.

"He's a little _young_, don't you think, my Lord?" he asked, standing over Rabastan and examining him, and Rabastan's heart skipped a beat.

_Young._

He was _young_ – not weak, not small, but _young_. If that was the only thing that they could criticize about him, then surely, everything was all right…

"A touch young, perhaps," the Dark Lord acknowledged. "But he will grow older, you see."

There was a slight tittering in the room and Rabastan forced himself to smile too, though he felt quite sick with nerves. He tried to wipe his hands surreptitiously on the inside of his cloak. A few spots were growing in front of his eyes and he blinked quickly, trying to get rid of them.

"Sit down, Rabastan Lestrange," the Dark Lord told him, and he took a seat quickly, not daring to hesitate for even a second. "And have a drink."

"I don't–" Rabastan began, but he broke off quickly and hoped that no one had heard him talk when one of the men handed him a glass of wine. He sipped it swiftly, hoping that – for once – he would be able to hold the alcohol. He had been told by the healers that the potions he had to take, just to be able to stand up and walk and look something like a healthy person, made his body react to alcohol as though it was much stronger than it was.

_I'll be careful. I'll only drink a little, just enough to be polite._

He sipped the wine slowly, the set it down on the table and looked around, very aware that everyone in the room was watching him intently.

"How much do you know about our cause, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked, after they sat in silence for some time. "How much do you _really_ know?"

"I- I know that you crusade for the purification of Wizarding blood," Rabastan said. His hands shook slightly, so terrified he was that he sounded foolish. "I know that you wish to put Mudbloods and Muggles in their place…"

"Very good," the Dark Lord said and Rabastan was not entirely sure whether he was being sincere or patronizing. He sounded patronizing to him.

"That is something that every person on the streets should know about our cause," one of the men said, looking at Rabastan with what he could only imagine was suspicion. "It is nothing so terribly special for him to know it, my Lord… with all due respect."

"All due respect indeed," the Dark Lord said quietly. He had taken a seat beside Rabastan and was leaning closer to him.

"What is it about this- this _boy_ that makes you think that he could serve as a Death Eater?" another man asked, and another murmur went around the room. Rabastan tensed slightly – had they all been asking themselves that question? Did his age – and his size and his weakness – all suggest to them that he would be useless? Would they convince the Dark Lord that he was? _Was he?_

"Don't you all see?" The Dark Lord smirked slightly as he reached out and touched Rabastan's cheek. His fingers felt cold and sent a shiver up his spine.

"Sir…" Rabastan breathed, but broke off when the Dark Lord pressed a finger against his lips. He thought that he would melt, that he would collapse into a quivering mess at the Dark Lord's feet and only barely managed to keep himself steady. As soon as his finger moved from his lips, he drained his glass of wine, hoping that the alcohol would soothe him.

"He is a very skilled young man," the Dark Lord said, not taking his eyes off Rabastan. He wondered if he was able to tell what he was thinking and his face flushed slightly at the idea.

"Have you seen him fight, then, my Lord? Is he stronger than he looks?"

Rabastan turned and glared viciously at the man who had said that, clenching his hands into fists. He would have gladly drawn his wand and offered to duel him on the spot, but he knew that he would lose and he was sure that he would die from the humiliation of being bested in a fight in front of all these men… and the Dark Lord…

"I know that he is stronger than he looks," the Dark Lord said calmly.

"But you have never seen him fight?"

"Are you questioning me?" He turned on the man who was arguing, who instantly drew back, clearly horrified at the idea that he might be calling his Master's authority into question.

"No, my Lord, of course not, never…"

"Good," he said, not betraying so much as the slightest shred of emotion. "Now, you will treat Rabastan with greater respect than this, or I fear I shall have to issue punishment. He is one of us… or, he shall be, by the end of the night…"

No one seemed willing to argue with that, which was a profound relief to Rabastan, whose hands were shaking slightly. He was finding it extremely difficult to hold his wine glass and tightened his grip on the stem until he feared that he would break it.

"To listen to the Ministry of Magic and the Daily Prophet," the Dark Lord said, taking up a wine glass himself and slowly dragging his fingertip around the brim, "we are a group of madman who have no goal save to kill those who disagree with us and those of lesser blood. I'm sure that you have heard such rumours, have you not, Rabastan Lestrange?"

"Yes, my Lord," he said quietly, then added, "but I would never believe them…"

"Good," he said, his lip twitching slightly. "That is good. They are entirely false. We have little interest in _killing_ – it is such a messy method of bringing about change…"

Rabastan tried to listen attentively, but his mind was becoming hazy and the spots were returning to his vision. Drinking the wine had been a terrible mistake, he thought, as his stomach churned and he tried hard to keep himself from passing out in his seat. The Dark Lord slid in and out of focus as he tried to look at him.

And then, all of a sudden, it was only he and the Dark Lord in the room and the other men were all gone and the Dark Lord was leaning very close to him.

"Are you ill, Rabastan Lestrange?" he breathed, his voice low, intent, and then he raised a hand and touched Rabastan's forehead as though testing his temperature. Rabastan's heart pounded against his ribcage.

"I'm… not ill… drunk, I think," he managed to say. His lips and tongue felt heavy, sluggish and a little numb.

"That's just as well." The Dark Lord stood up, everything moving so very slowly and it was all so difficult for Rabastan to watch without everything simply turning into a bright, colourful, impenetrable blur.

"What- what do you mean?" he managed.

"I'll be giving you your Dark Mark, of course."

"And… why should I be drunk for that?" Rabastan's mind was moving terribly slowly, but he was _quite_ sure that there was no reason that he should need to be drunk to receive the Mark.

"Oh, it isn't that you _should_ be drunk, of course… but given your youth, your innocence…"

"My innocence?"

"I take it you've never lain with anyone before?"

Rabastan blinked. Every word was moving terribly slowly through his brain, taking so much more time than it should have to pass from his ears to whatever part of his mind was dedicated to comprehending the meaning of a phrase.

"I've… never…"

"You needn't answer," the Dark Lord said, and his voice sounded oddly crisp and clinical. "I know that you're… as I said… _innocent._"

"I… I am… what does that have to do with me receiving the Dark Mark? Do you…" Rabastan blinked slowly, trying to clear his thoughts. "Do you r- routinely… _go to bed_ with your Death Eaters?" The idea was both horrifying and terribly exciting.

"Of course not. Most of them have to kill before they can take the Mark, but you…"

"But I?"

"I think that you will please me," he said, extending a hand for him. "You're a terribly attractive boy, Rabastan – I'm sure you've been told many times…"

"No… not often… not ever…" If Rabastan's mind had not been so thick with alcohol, he might have been able to detect a note of sarcasm in the Dark Lord's voice, a hint of darkness and mirth that indicated that he was mocking him, but as it was, all that Rabastan could register was that everything was incredibly beautiful when he was so hazy from the drink.

The Dark Lord, in particular, was beautiful…

"Come now," he said, his voice low, smooth and _devastatingly_ lovely.

Rabastan barely managed to stumble to his feet and follow him into the back room.


	14. All for One

Rabastan had never woken up in a strange bed before.

He had always – _always_ – slept in his own bed with Rodolphus in the next room and vials of strengthening potions within arm's reach, had never even been allowed to sleep anywhere else, and now he was in a small, unfamiliar room on a hard, uncomfortable bed and there was someone in the bed with him.

"My Lord?" Rabastan asked in a small, quavering voice. He was trying to remember last night, but everything was just an unsettling blur of hot kisses and burning pain. Burning pain in his arm, burning pain between his legs…

He lifted his left arm and stared at it.

The Dark Mark shone black upon his pale skin.

"My Lord…" he breathed. He was awed by it – it was such a lovely, beautiful mark that it made him tremble with delight that the Dark Lord had bestowed it upon him. "Oh, my Lord, it is…"

"It pleases you that you have taken it," he said, taking Rabastan's arm and dragging one fingertip slowly over the mark. Rabastan's back arched as a shot of pain ran through his body and the Dark Lord released him, a smirk playing upon his lips.

"You will be a fine Death Eater, Rabastan," he told him. "You have already done so well…" He trailed off suggestively and a flush rose in Rabastan's cheeks.

"Thank you, my Lord," he whispered, sitting up and glancing around the small room. His robes were folded neatly upon a chair and he wondered whether the Dark Lord had placed them there, because he was _quite_ sure that he had been in no state to fold his clothes last night. He wasn't even sure that he had been in any state to remove them. But maybe he had – he couldn't remember…

"There will be another meeting in a fortnight," the Dark Lord said, suddenly sounding rather businesslike and using a voice quite different from the low, almost seductive purr that he had been using before. "At the same time, in the same place. I trust that you can remember that?"

"Yes, my Lord." Rabastan nodded quickly and tried to heave himself out of bed to fetch his clothes. It took great effort and stars burst before his eyes. He had to cling to the bedframe to stay upright and half expected the Dark Lord to extend a helping hand.

He didn't.

Perhaps it was rude to expect that the Dark Lord would help him, even after he had taken him to bed. Just because he had lain with Rabastan didn't mean that he was suddenly his lover…

Rabastan couldn't remember the last time that he had gotten out of bed without the help of vial after vial of potions. He had been told so many times that he absolutely _needed_ them, but he felt little worse now, without them, than he usually did when getting out of bed. Perhaps he would talk to the Healers – perhaps he would talk to his parents – and tell them that he didn't need the potions anymore…

"Goodbye, my Lord," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground while he did up his robes with shaking hands. "I am so grateful for… for all of this…"

The Dark Lord didn't say anything, and Rabastan couldn't bring himself to say anything more, so overwhelmed was he by emotion.

When he Disapparated and returned home, there was a sinister silence over the manor. A small chill ran up Rabastan's spine and he glanced around.

The door to the parlour was open.

"Hello?" he called out softly, pushing it open a little further and looking inside. As he had feared, his parents were sitting together with matching stony expressions on their faces, and Rodolphus, Andromeda and Bellatrix were on the other sofa. There were tears on Andromeda's cheeks.

"Where have you _been_?" Maria demanded, standing up and striding forward, grabbing Rabastan by the front of his shirt. "You've been out _all night!_"

"I know– I stayed with the Dark Lord–"

"And you didn't think that we'd be worried? Have you been _drinking_?"

Rabastan closed his mouth quickly. There must have been alcohol on his breath.

"You _have_!" Maria cried. "You've been off with the Dark Lord,_ drinking _and…" She trailed off, sniffing the air slightly. "And… you smell of…"

Rabastan's face went crimson and Rodolphus let out a short, mirthless bark of laughter. "You _didn't_… you _slept_ with him?"

"Shut up!" Rabastan hissed.

Maria looked ready to faint and Joseph stood up, catching her and guiding her back down to her seat before turning on his son. "Rabastan…"

"Don't start with me!" Rabastan's voice rose to a high, hysterical pitch. "I've done nothing wrong – I only did what he asked of me as a Death Eater! Look!" He pulled back his sleeve, showing off the Dark Mark emblazoned on his skin. "I did what the Dark Lord asked of me – ask _her_…" He pointed at Andromeda. "Ask _her_ what _her _excuse is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Andromeda told him, her cheeks going pink as she dashed tears from her eyes. "I haven't done anything!"

"That boy you've been with–"

"Boy?" Bellatrix looked at her sister, eyes narrowing. "What boy?"

And now it was Andromeda who people were looking at accusingly. Andromeda's face was flushed bright red. She glanced around, clearly looking for an ally and finding none.

"She's been with a boy," Rabastan told them. "Up on the moors – I don't know who he is, but he _isn't_ a Pureblood. Not from a proper family. I'd recognize him if he was. At least the Dark Lord isn't–"

"Be quiet!" Andromeda said, pushing Bellatrix and Rodolphus away, rising to her feet and striking Rabastan across his face. "You know _nothing!_ You said it yourself, you don't know him, you don't know what he's like–"

"So it's true?" Bellatrix asked, also standing. She pulled her sister around and shook her. "Who is he, Andi? Mother and Father–"

"Don't you _dare_ tell Mother and Father!" Andromeda shouted, pushing her sister back. "Don't you _dare!_"

"Andromeda…" Maria took Andromeda's arm firmly, pulling her back. "What is this? Is this true? But you and Rabastan…"

"Well, Rabastan's _obviously_ not interested in people like me," Andromeda said with a sneer. "He'd _obviously_ rather be with a man…"

"Shut your mouth!" Rabastan spat, fresh colour flooding his cheeks. "He's not just a _man_, he's the Dark Lord! He wanted me…"

Rodolphus snorted. "As though you haven't been fantasizing about him for weeks. You've wanted him ever since you first met him – you've got his letter under your pillow…"

"I have _not!_"

"We will discuss that _later!_" Maria said sharply. "Andromeda…?"

"All right- I've been with a boy…" she said, clearly thinking it better to get the confession over with, "but I haven't _slept_ with him–"

"But people wouldn't approve of him, would they?" Rabastan asked, a triumphant smile twisting his lips. He could see a flash of fear in Andromeda's eyes and he laughed. "What is he, Andromeda? A Mudblood?"

"Don't call him a Mudblood!" Andromeda cried, then blanched. "I- he's not–"

"Talk to her," Rabastan said to his parents, his voice full of derision. "Tell _her_ off for who she's been with – running about with a Mudblood is worse than going to bed with the Dark Lord…"

Andromeda glared at him. Her eyes were full of pure hatred.

He had never seen her look even half so disgusted and he didn't stay to find out what would happen. He didn't need to. Whatever _did_ happen, it would be bad for Andromeda and any scandal about Rabastan sleeping with a man would be forgotten.

Rabastan strode out of the parlour and hovered on the stairs, gripping the banister for support and listening to the fight. Maria was berating Andromeda, telling her that she was as good as her daughter and she would not stand for her humiliating herself like this. More than once, Rabastan heard Andromeda start to say something, only to be cut off with the sound of flesh on flesh and he wondered whether Maria had slapped her or whether Bellatrix had.

Bellatrix, he would have guessed.

A small part of Rabastan felt guilty for listening to Andromeda's humiliation with such pleasure. Andromeda had, after all, once – _once_ – been someone that he would have given up his life for, and though that time had passed entirely, perhaps he still ought to have protected her. Perhaps he should have, at least, not gone out of his way to be sure that she was beaten down. Perhaps he should have been silent, should have avoided telling his parents and just allowed them to attack him for how he had spent the night instead of diverting blame to Andromeda, who was, after all, innocent…

But he pushed those thoughts away.

It was better for Andromeda to be disgraced than for him to be.


	15. Dandelion Wine

_Epilogue_

Rabastan hadn't seen Andromeda after that. She had stayed away from him and his family, and if Bellatrix and Narcissa were to be believed, she stayed away from them as well, preferring to stay out on the moor for hours on end. She was no longer welcome at the Lestranges' home, and that had suited Rabastan at first – he didn't have to face her, which was far easier than having to endure the mutinous glares that she would give him if they did happen to cross paths.

But Rabastan didn't need her. He had the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord, who favoured him, who lay with him, who made him feel as though he had _some_ strength. It was better to be the Dark Lord's favourite and dedicate his life to him than have to contend with the temperaments of women like Andromeda. He didn't go up onto the moors anymore, and perhaps she didn't either, for he never saw her through his windows anymore.

She ran away not long after and it had been a relief for Rabastan that he would never have to see her again.

And for a while, all had been well.

But then, one night, Rodolphus had attended a meeting, and it was he who had been kept afterwards and returned the next morning smelling of alcohol and sex. Rabastan had privately raged, had needed to resist every urge to kill his brother on the spot and go to the Dark Lord and beg him never to lie with anyone else again. Rodolphus had not spent any nights in the Dark Lord's bed after that – not to Rabastan's knowledge, in any case – but Rabastan's nights became fewer and further between and after Bellatrix received her Mark, they stopped altogether. Bellatrix took on the role that Rabastan had once coveted, of the Dark Lord's favourite, his finest Death Eater and his bed mate as well.

Rabastan had nursed his fury over bottles of wine and had all but given up in his attempts to please his master. A part of him had almost been glad when the Dark Lord fell, though another part was agonized.

And then there had been Azkaban.

And in Azkaban, while Bellatrix in the next cell screamed of the Dark Lord and how he would come for her, Rabastan, silent in his little room, was haunted by Andromeda.

_How could you do this, Rabastan?_

_How could you take the life that we had and ruin it like this?_

_We would have been happy together, Rabastan…_

He had thought that when he was finally freed from Azkaban, he had escaped her as well. For days and weeks after he left the cell, he did not hear her voice, did not see her anymore, and he was _sure_ that all was well now…

But it wasn't.

Because now, now that Rabastan had stumbled his way up to where they _had_ once been happy together and now he was sitting beside her on that little stone wall (_it had seemed so much bigger before, so much finer_) and she was looking back at him with sad and ghostly eyes and he could not allow tears to fall.

"_Are you happy, Rabastan?_"

_Are you happy?_

No. He was not happy. Azkaban – Azkaban, haunted by Andromeda – had torn him apart, the changes that had come over the Dark Lord even before Azkaban had torn him apart, Andromeda herself had torn him apart…

"_Do you regret what you did?_"

And that was a far more difficult question.

What would his life have been if he had not chosen the Dark Lord over Andromeda? The choice had become so intimately connected to every aspect of his existence that he could no longer comprehend any other path that he could have taken.

Who would he have been if the Dark Lord had never taken him as a Death Eater – if he had seen weakness where everyone else had and had never been there to lend him strength? Would Rabastan still be nothing more than a cripple, unable to walk or talk or even _think_? Would he have never learned to exist without the help of potions and his family?

Who would he have been if the Dark Lord had never taken him as a lover? His romance – if it could be called that – with Andromeda had been chaste and lustless – would the rest of his life have been so as well? Would he have learned to desire her or would everything have always been innocent?

Who would he have been if he had not gone to Azkaban? What would his mind have been?

He could not think.

He could not picture a world without those events.

"I don't know," he whispered, and that was all that he could say.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
